


The Time-Travelling Tailors of St George Street

by chibinocho



Category: A Charm of Magpies Series - K. J. Charles, Society of Gentlemen - K. J. Charles, The Will Darling Adventures - K.J. Charles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Magic Door, Multi-Era, Regency, Shameless pairing, Slash, Tailoring, fashion - Freeform, time-travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibinocho/pseuds/chibinocho
Summary: Hawkes and Cheney are the most exclusive partnership of tailors in London ... in several eras and in several different ways.
Relationships: Hawkes/Cheney, Stephen Day/Lucien Vaudrey
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Hawkes and Cheney Fiction Collection





	The Time-Travelling Tailors of St George Street

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightingalesang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightingalesang/gifts).



> So I couldn't sign up for Yuletide 2020 because I didn't know if I would be able to complete something by the deadline but did manage to create a fic on the back of a post asking for fic prompts.
> 
> So I'm sorry for this spectacularly cheesy ever so slightly cracky slash because we all know Hawkes and Cheney would totally be a pairing in every sense of the word. There is a plot bunny hijack directly from Howl's Moving Castle to make it work but I had a lot of fun writing it.
> 
> I also now want Hawkes/Cheney as a relationship tag ...

"You're late." Said Mr Hawkes around a mouthful of pins as the dial above the doorframe clunked from the flickering blue to green and the heavy oak door opened with a creak that sounded like it had escaped from a gothic novel.

As expected, Mr Cheney stepped through the doorway, bringing with him not only the distinct scent of smoke and fog that was immediately identifiable as 1920s London but also carried a large bolt of pale green silk on his shoulder and held a wrapped bottle and a paper bag under his arm. His ever-youthful features were sunny and never failed to put Hawkes in a good mood.

"True, however I come bearing stock and the new Secretan order for evening dress. There's also a new haberdashery on Regent Street and I managed to pick up some delightful mother of pearl buttons for a ridiculously good price which our Mr Norreys will very much approve of...And a bottle of rather nice champagne from Fortnum and Mason." Cheney placed the sack, the bottle and the silk on the enormous oak table and went over to the dressing room to change, neglecting to pull the heavy damask curtain. 

Hawkes continued to adjust the dummy in front of him, pinning the cut panels of fine lawn together, however his eyes cast over to Cheney appreciatively. The man was hanging up his Homberg and changing out of his herringbone patterned suit with the cuffed trousers and shedding his crisp white shirt to stand in his sinfully-short drawers which glowed white against his olive-hued skin. He then reached for the shirt, black-on-black embroidered waistcoat and high-waisted trousers hung up on their usual hook. Cheney was shorter than himself but beautifully broad-shouldered, muscular and absolute pleasure to dress… and undress. This little-but-necessary ritual was Hawkes' favourite bit of any door-trip.

Once suitably attired for this dimension, Cheney went over to the counter and pulled down the large leather-bound diary on the counter that was stuffed with paper, notes, samples and bills. Hawkes watched him use the purple silk ribbon marker to turn to the right day and consult the next few days. Of the both of them, Cheney was the most aware of the need for structure and organisation within their establishment; the keen business mind of their successful operation. As he worked, a single curling lock of rich brown hair fell into his eyes and Hawkes wondered if they had time this evening to mess it up further. 

"We will need to be at Pink tomorrow. Master Norreys is coming in. Picking up that lovely blue and silver waistcoat and that bobbin lace edged cravat if you have managed to finish it." He looked down the page. "Ah yes, he is also bringing a companion, one Harry Vane, who requires a complete fitting for several pieces. Whole new wardrobe from the sounds of it."

Hawkes completed his final tacking stitch on the lawn shirt and snipped the threads. He reached for the next reel and threaded up two needles, his fingers seeming to sparkle as he did so.

"Another Vane." Hawkes said thoughtfully, setting the needles off on their merry way through the seams, flashing in and out as they moved downwards. "Hopefully he pays as well as Lord Richard." Hawkes was particularly fond of Lord Richard's wonderful habit of sending his elegant and extremely astute valet Cyprian over with orders for extremely expensive - but also extremely pleasurable to make up - pieces with very subtle but intricate detailing. It made his fingers itch to think of it.

"Lord Richard is to settle the Vane bill apparently, so we should send it direct to Albermarle Street." Said Cheney absently, looking down his lists. "That's good, that oriental brocade cost a fortune and the bill is due soon. And I ordered more of that black satin too - maybe too much - although we can use that for Secretan..." Cheney lost himself in fabric reveries, looking down the book and tapping his pen on his lip and he mumbled happily about linens. Hawkes couldn't help but watch; Cheney's mouth was delicious, full and pink and he chewed his lip when deep in thought, which made it redder and fuller. Hawkes wondered if they would have any time this evening to make them even redder.

Not just yet. Business was business.

"So what is this week?" 

Cheney shook his head. Dark brown curls bobbed as he did so, they never stayed in place for long.

"Oh, yes! We have three days in Pink - the Norreys order along with Vane’s will take some time to get measured up and cut - and then we are back here on Thursday for Lord Crane's monthly fitting." He jotted a short note in the book. "He also sent that man of his - Merrick - to say he wants another set made up for that fella who's with him. That Day bloke."

Hawkes started the next seam, barely missing a stitch. He remembered Day's first visit to the premises. Shorter than Cheney, more skittish than a cat in a furriers and also a bloody Justiciar. He had arrived with Lord Crane and cast a wary eye over their establishment the second he had entered. He had known immediately what Hawkes and Cheney were. His strange amber eyes had seemed to glow and take in every inch of detail of their shop, resting fully on the door on the back wall with its coloured dial above it. Cheney hadn't noticed - too busy consulting with an enthusiastic Lord Crane with his swatches, measuring tape and design paper - but Hawkes had.

As Cheney went to pull down more fabric swatches and present a selection of buttons and fastenings to Lord Crane, Hawkes went to offer Mr Day a cup of tea. The diminutive man was staring at Lord Crane who met his gaze with one Hawkes could only recognise as desire. Well, well. Still, he should offer his customer a tea at least. 

"Mr Day." Hawkes himself was almost as tall as Crane but still knew better than to tower over the man and so kept himself distant and his tones respectful. "Can I help you?" He hadn’t intended his tones to be defensive but it somehow did.

Day had looked away from Crane to face him and given an almost smile in response that was strangely reassuring.

"Mr Hawkes, I am here purely at Lord Crane's insistence to be measured up for a suit of his choosing. I have no interest in you two as practitioners. You aren't turning warlock or abusing your powers so I have no interest in you beyond sartorial." He gave a cynical smile. "Unless you give me reason to, of course … colour choices notwithstanding, I look terrible in yellow." he had then followed Cheney’s direction to step up onto the pedestal they used for fittings, standing still while Cheney took the man’s measurements and Lord Crane looked like he'd rather be doing that task himself.

And Day had been absolutely right, practitioners they indeed were with talents that were not only beyond helpful for their art but also curiously complementary. Cheney's ability stemmed from time. He could carefully focus on a single moment and simply step into that time or skip forward and back for short periods. When they had first met as apprentices at Meyers on Conduit Street, Cheney had been using his ability to skip moments of time to complete dull seamwork and pattern cutting quickly, not realising the full extent of his powers. Hawkes himself also had powers, although he considered them not nearly so impressive as Cheney's. He could imbue objects with ether and manipulate them, which he had been using to control needles to create tiny, exquisite stitching for both patterns and embroidery. Joined by tailoring talents that many were becoming suspicious of, the two young men had struck up a friendship, which had swiftly revealed their talents to each other. They had then completed their apprenticeships together.

And then they had discovered that they could combine their skills but make an extremely lucrative business.

Cheney's time ability had given him a limited but useful amount of precognition particularly with fashionable cuts, patterns, colours and fabrics. Whatever he designed always seemed to be on the very cusp of fashion. Hawkes could then easily encourage these designs through his needles and treadle sewing machine to create pieces of spectacular workmanship and beauty that was the envy of society no matter which time they were in. Whereas Hawkes ether-enhanced craftsmanship could produce fine and intricately detailed work which were too difficult to copy by other tailors. The speed of his needles also meant that he could make flattering adjustments and alterations within hours - something which their grateful customers adored.

Their shop was a narrow building conveniently located between Savile Row and Hanover Street on the little known St George Street and had been for over one hundred and fifty years. After increasingly high takings they had been looking for a premises to start their own shop and had attended a property auction in the desperate hope of finding somewhere suitable. The shop's lease had come up in the auction lists for a ridiculously low price. Desperate for a premises of their own, Hawkes and Cheney had enquired as to why such a place was at such a price and the auctioneer had laughed at them.

"Don't you know? No one wants it. Tried to sell it here before and it never lasts. T'is said to be haunted. Tried exorcisms an' some of them magic types have been and investigated but not done a thing, so it's up for anyone what wants it."

And want it they did. Hawkes and Cheney were eager to have a place for their growing business and even an establishment that reeked of bad practice was better than nothing. And the fact that the residence came with an extensive, cool basement, running water, comfortable living quarters above the shop and an array of furniture was more than enough compensation for the practice-embedded oak door that emanated malevolence at the back of the shop.

"I wager we could use our own practice on it." Said Hawkes one evening as they had sat together on a large bolt of worsted and shared a bottle of wine to celebrate their opening. So many of their customers had been through the doors, eager to place orders and several commissions had arrived from messengers from various aristocratic clients requesting their services that Cheney had declared they must celebrate.

"What do you mean?" He said, leaning against Hawkes, sharing warmth as the fire was now only scant embers.

Hawkes swallowed and gestured with his glass.

"Put yours and my power into it. You reckoned it was a gateway to something so maybe it is. Might be a cheaper way to travel somewhere exotic. I have always wanted to see Paris."

Cheney laughed but only two weeks later found the two working together to repair the door in its frame and attempt to make it work. Hawkes had forced the ether through it, commanding and controlling it. Then Cheney pulled on as much power as he could had pushed through his time skips and a new entrance had generated for them. Once Cheney had recovered - using such a significant amount of power had caused him to collapse and left him drained for days - they had gone through together, holding hands and hearts only to step into a new time.

Only this time was not their own. It was a world without practice and - more to the point - a world that was from an earlier time. The Prince Regent was still on the throne and the Industrial Revolution was yet to peak and men were still in stockings and gathered shirts with every kind of lace. However, their shop still stood, albeit without its machines and more modern fabrics but everything else was there.

"But it worked! It can be our second branch!" Declared Cheney delightedly, spreading his arms wide to encompass the little shop. He had seized Hawkes' arms and spun the larger, more slender man around with him until they were both dizzy and ended up collapsed on a large pile of folded muslin, with Cheney on his back and Hawkes kneeling between his spread thighs. 

And Cheney had looked up at Hawkes with those guileless, big brown eyes so alight with hope and promise. He reached up to touch Hawkes' face in wonder and Hawkes had leaned down and kissed him. They kissed like drowning men, clinging hard to each other’s bodies in a mess of lips and tongue before pulling away to face each other, breathless.

"Want to see if the bedrooms are the same?" Whispered Cheney, his chest heaving.

Hawkes shivered at the memory of their first lovemaking as he set the needles off hemming the edge of the shirt and tried to focus on the task. He would usually use the machine for such menial work but Lord Crane was their best customer and took great pleasure in the tiny touches Hawkes added to his stitching details. Besides, it kept him from thinking about tumbling Cheney before he had the chance to finish the day’s work. Their establishment would have never become as exclusive and lucrative as it had done if Hawkes had given in to every time he desired to have Cheney bent over the counter.

Even if Cheney had yet to refuse him even on business grounds.

Maybe that was why they were so successful, their periods of abstinence?

Probably not.

They had made a success of their Regency shop within days. Cheney - ever the enthusiast - had sallied forth within days of their arrival and sourced several society names that had the reputation for being the height of sartorial perfection. He had then immediately set to designing a series of unfitted waistcoats which were delivered to these exclusive names with invitations for fittings and the orders had followed suit. These had then culminated in an unofficial club called the Ricardians - the eponymous Lord Richard Vane as their apparent leader - becoming the favoured patrons of Hawkes and Cheney. With their Regency orders building up and their Victorian shop still doing a consistently good trade, they had been forced to consider either hiring help or cutting down orders.

"No help." Said Hawkes one evening. They sat together in his bed - a more than usual occurrence these days - with Hawkes working on the embroidered detailing of Mr Norreys latest waistcoat sitting between Cheney's splayed legs while Cheney idly combed his fingers through his smooth blond hair. "We can't let anyone know what we can do."

Cheney didn't cease his caresses and Hawkes didn't slow his needle.

"You are right, of course." Cheney replied gently. "We couldn't trust anyone fully with our secret and it would only bring the Justiciary down on us. It means we would have to remain very exclusive and limited. Are you happy with that, my dear?"

Hawkes finished his final loop on an elaborate tiny rose that would be used to edge the pocket of the waistcoat and set his hoop down on the table.

"We have more than enough customers." He said. "It's enough for me."

There was a silence between them before Hawkes noticed Cheney's teasing of his hair had slowed down considerably. 

"Go on."

"What about trying another door?" Cheney burst out. "We did it once, could we do it again? Could I go forward? I could try, it wouldn't be too far but think of the opportunities, the stock we could get! I really want to see the changes. Think of the new cuts and styles." He was sat bolt upright in the bed now, quivering with excitement.

"Last time you were feverish for nearly a week." Hawkes remembered seeing that usually golden complexion pale, grey and sweating. It was at that point exactly where Hawkes knew he couldn't be without Cheney. Ever.

"We have better control now. We do. Let us try - one more time, one more time going forward. Please Hawkes, let's do this." His eyes were big and round again.

And because he had never been able to refuse Cheney anything, they stood before the door, bodies aglow as they summoned up what power they could. The door seemed to shimmer and warp before them and rattled on its hinges, lights issuing from around the cracks. Cheney shook and swayed as he gritted his teeth and Hawkes grabbed his arm.

"Too much!'

"Nearly!" Blood ran from the smaller man's nose and his knees began to buckle. "I can do it."

"Cheney, stop!"

Recovery took over a week this time and Hawkes had wept over his partners' form more than once when his breathing became so shallow he thought it was the end. The doctor diagnosed exhaustion and fever and left a bottle of laudanum and nothing more. Hawkes had shoved the bottle in a cupboard and simply sat by Cheney's bed, folding his hand and bathing his brow. With Cheney incapacitated, Lord Crane's and Norreys' orders were delayed and Hawkes found himself drafting extensively apologetic letters as he sat by Cheney's bedside, watching his beloved partner tossed, turned, sweated and slept in equal measure. Foolish. So so foolish.

"Ready?"

It was the same. Unlike their Regency establishment, which had obvious elements missing their future establishment had remained as they had left it. Nothing had changed. Their counter was still sleekly polished mahogany with the matching till resting beneath. Looking out of the windows revealed a glorious world of new buildings, different smoke, glossy motor cars and risen hems but their little slice of West London had remained a glorious relic of Victoriana. Cheney - still hollow-eyed and pale - looked delighted.

"It's like we stood still in time. This is marvellous! We are positively antique."

And 'antique' was apparently a major draw for the beleaguered and much decimated upper classes in this period. The thought of exclusive tailors, who upheld proper pre-war traditions with a beyond exclusive customer list made them the most sought after establishment outside Savile Row. They could take so few orders in this time period that every time they went through the door, there was another pile of letters begging them to take on a commission or have an order placed.

Hawkes finished his seamwork and snapped out of his reveries as Cheney came up behind him.

"That's lovely." He said softly. "Ready for pleats?"

"Yes. I was thinking knife pleats?"

Cheney's eyes narrowed and seemed to flash. He went to the dresser drawers pulling out a spool of shining white silk thread.

"Hmm, better pin tucks with the good silk thread. This is a shirt for Lord Crane and he likes to make a subtle statement." He passed the spool to Hawkes who dusted his fingers with French chalk and immediately let the needles fly through pleats. A series of shape and uniform pleats began to appear. "Yes, that's definitely it."

They worked in industrial but convivial quiet for several hours. Hawkes finished up the shirt faster than usual, finding time to replace the cotton edging with thin satin ribbon as Lord Crane would be sure to notice these delicate touches. Cheney kept himself busy with his sketches, drawing clear figures of Lord Crane and Mr Day and making up combinations with notes, cuts and patterns. Every so often Hawkes would look up to see flashes of scissors and cutting wheels jumping around as Cheney skipped moments of time to cut the pieces needed, ready for tomorrow's work, including the pale green silk which was going to line Day's jacket. Despite his enthusiastic and happy-go-lucky attitude, Cheney was a serious tailor who took pride in his work.

They finally downed tools as the clock struck seven and treated themselves to a dinner at Wilton's in celebration of the Vane order. Cheney ordered brandies to finish and by the time they let themselves back into the shop, they were both staggering a little and needing to lean on each other. They laughed their way up the narrow staircase and by the time Cheney rested his hand on his bedroom door and looked back at him with his rumpled hair, Hawkes could restrain himself no longer.

"Joshua." He rumbled, seizing his partner around the waist and kissing his neck. He used Cheney's first name so very rarely that it was like a spark to the fire.

"William." Came the happy response and Cheney's hand came up to tangle in Hawkes' hair and pull him close, even as Hawkes' hands slid under his waistcoat and shirt.

They fell into bed and it was a glorious coupling both flushed with wine and the sense of success. Cheney rode him like a man possessed as Hawkes gripped his hips and held him tight. Cheney gave a cry of absolute pleasure as he reached his peak and Hawkes couldn't help but follow him. They collapsed together on the bed panting, kissing and above all, laughing. 

As the candle guttered next to them, Cheney traced patterns on Hawkes' chest, his bronzed fingers seeming to sketch figures. He then drew a breath and Hawkes waited.

"Lord Crane mentioned today that he is going to be returning to Shanghai with that Mr Day." Cheney didn't feel the need to comment on that arrangement between the two men, it had been obvious since the minute Day had stepped into the shop. Hawkes was happy for them but waited for Cheney's thought. "He asked whether we would consider receiving telegraph orders and shipping for additional payment of course."

"I don't see a problem with that." Hawkes replied, pulling Cheney flush against him to settle down for the night. Their charwoman wouldn't be in for another day so there was no need to maintain the illusion that they slept in separate bedrooms. He treasured these nights.

Then Cheney spoke.

"Shanghai though … we couldn't do it again but do you ever think about trying to go beyond time…"

"Is being able to travel through time and having the best men in London beating down our door across three different eras not enough for you?" Asked Hawkes incredulously. Cheney grinned.

"Ah William Hawkes, that still wouldn't be enough for you. From the moment I saw you in that workroom at Meyers and then when you decided you wanted to work with me, I wanted to give you the world and everything in it. I want you to work with the finest threads, trimmings and fabrics, making for the finest people knowing that only the top of society will wear your masterpieces. I am only happy if you are."

Cheney's face was so intensely pleading and eager for approval that Hawkes was reminded of the messy-haired, lonely boy in Meyers again. He kissed Cheney for the sheer hell of it before drawing him down into the bed and pulling the counterpane and sheets over them both. The counterpane itself had been a Christmas gift from Cheney earlier in the year, a quilted patchwork masterpiece created from piles of off-cut fabric. It had been a thing of beauty and Hawkes adored it almost as much as the giver.

"I am sorry. You are right, we don't need to make another door." Said Cheney softly against his chest; his voice sounded almost fragile. Hawkes thought about the frightened eleven year old orphan boy who had been sent to Meyers by his relatives looking to be rid of their unnecessary expense and had barely spoken more than five words together for the first three years. Cheney never spoke about his time before Meyers but Hawkes knew from the thin white scar lines on his back that it wasn't good and had led to these occasional periods of anxious self-loathing that made Hawkes' heart twist.

"Don't be sorry, just be safe… Want to tell me what you want to do for Lord Crane's new commission?"

Like a taper to a gaslight, Cheney's face illuminated and he reached over to light the next candle. He reached for his papers and pencils - Hawkes had long banned ink in the bed - was already letting words spill out of his mouth -  _ narrow cut, satin, overlaid stitching, several inner pockets and taken in tighter at the waist. In silver? Yes, silver. What do you think about... _ And Hawkes watched him, eyes glazed with sleep, satiety and wine, just watching his mercurial-minded partner work and felt that being one half of the only time-travelling tailors in London may just be enough.


End file.
